


He knocked himself out, if he did say so himself

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-18
Updated: 2004-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester. Brad. Boxing. Stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He knocked himself out, if he did say so himself

"I didn't know that you liked boxing."

"I don't. I liked Muhammad Ali, though. And there was that movie."

"Will Smith. Float like a butterfly."

"Yeah, I remember watching that one." Brad grins, his teeth gleaming white in the soft light of the room.

"He was fucking rad, at the top of his game." He stops, briefly, and then says, "So I knew a boxer once. Or I didn't.

There's a story."

"About Muhammad Ali?"

"No. About a boxer." Chester frowns, and he slides closer to Brad to wrap one arm around his waist. His breath is a warm whisper in Brad's ear.

"His name was. We'll call him Steve. Yeah, Steve. Anyway, Steve was a boxer who went blind after one too many knocks to the head. He wasn't a very good boxer, you see. Glass jaw, among other things. Only no-one knew he was blind, save for his wife, his doctor and his coach. That's because he kept winning, you see. He got into the ring one day at the encouragement of his best friend, after a few months of sitting around feeling sorry for himself. His coach and best friend helped him, and once he put on his gloves, he discovered that despite his disability, he knew exactly where to hit. His best friend barely escaped with a sore jaw and a black eye. Somehow, in the ring, he could see."

"Like Matt Murdock in Daredevil," Brad says sleepily. He reaches out to lace his hands with Chester's.

"Yeah. That movie with Ben Affleck, right?"

"Comic book."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, he gets into the ring and suddenly he realizes everything he'd thought he'd lost, he'd gained back. He could see, the way he'd never seen before, and move the way he never could. So he entered one competition, and then another, hiding his disability because no-one will take a blind boxer seriously, no one wants to fight a blind boxer. But his wife and his manager helped him, and he kept on boxing and he kept on winning. He was unstoppable. Some said the best there ever was. The whole World loved him. He got everything he ever wanted: money, fame, championship belts."

"Sounds wonderful."

"Not really. He couldn't enjoy any of it. He was blind, and no-one could know. Out of the ring, he was just another blind man who needed help just to make it across a street. He had help, of course. His wife and manager guided him whenever he was in the ring. Every public appearance he made was fiercely regulated, every effort made to control the situation so no one would figure out he was blind. Effectively, he was a prisoner who for the most part couldn't even leave his own home."

"Well, that must suck." Brad says, scratching at his face. Chester wants to kiss him, but later.

"Yeah. Anyway, the only time he feels good, the only time he feels alive is when he's in the ring. He enters into more and more fights, and but the more he wins, the harder it is to keep his secret, and the more he fights, the less his body can take it. He's exhausted, and weary, and not having fun at all despite the fact that he's on top of his game and a champion."

"Then one night he has a fight with his wife. She wants him to quit. He wants the World to know the truth. She tells him it's too late, that whatever sympathy he will garner will be washed away by the fact that he's been lying so long. That everyone will laugh at him.

The truth is, she worries that everyone will worship him even more, and she'll lose him forever. She's already been losing him, every night, to the ring, and one day she worries he won't come back out.

Angry and frustrated, he enters into another fight. This is a championship match, although the prizes he'd once coveted mean nothing to him now. His opponent is a brash thing, everyone says that he's suicidal for even thinking that he could beat Steve, but he's a young, cocky little shit, and he wants to try. Normally, Steve would put him down in a minute, but today. Today he can't concentrate, and for the first time, he finds himself a blind man in the ring. It's enough for his opponent to take a swing, surprised that it connects with Steve's body, once, twice, three times. Four, and he's staggering backwards.

Five, and he's being pummeled into the ropes.

Six, and you can hear a pin drop as the crowd gets to its feet and stares in disbelief.

Seven, and someone in the back row starts to cry, a low, anguished sob.

And more, and more, until both of Steve's eyes are swollen shut. Until he just stands there, and his opponent delivers the final punch, right to his jaw.

He hits the floor with a soft thud, and the second between the time he falls and pandemonium breaks loose is the longest many in the crowd have felt in years."

Chester pauses, dramatically. "He never gets to box again."

"What, he loses his sight permanently?"

"No, actually. He gets it back. Only, you know. He sucks. So he retires, and he and his wife move to an island where the national sport is soccer and no-one has ever heard of him."

"Oh," Brad says. "I'm glad to see your bedroom talk is as cheerful as ever, Chaz."

"What, you think that was a sad story?"

"You think it wasn't?"

"I don't know." Chester sighs.


End file.
